Page 19 of Owned By The Bratva King

I power down the console and grab my keys.

Ricky peers at me, his eye a tiny sliver below his swollen, plum-like eyebrow. “I told you—it was a misunderstanding. My guy was meant to go after someone else. I don’t know why he tried to take you out, Mr. Kazanov. I mean, how dumb can you get?”

I flex my fingers. My knuckles are numb, but I can and will punch him again if he doesn’t stop talking shit.

“Ricky, your lies have dimmed my already mood-lit view of you.” I bend down to where he’s lying on the ground and raise my eyebrows at him. “There are things crawling at the bottom of ponds that I’d hesitate to kill, but you?”

“No. Please, don’t.” Ricky’s voice rises hysterically as he pleads. “Don’t do it. You can’t, not if I tell you what I know.”

“So a mafia boss set you on the task?” I grab him by the scruff of his shirt and drop him again with a thud. “Why pretend otherwise?”

“Because I wanted to show loyalty by not squealing,” Ricky cries. “No one wants me to work for them, not as a full-timer. Vercotti said it was my chance to prove myself.”

Vercotti. Well, well, well.

“Jesus fuck.” I haul him to his feet. “That went well, didn’t it? Having a prick like you as an employee would be like two good guys quitting. You wanna save your hide?”

I don’t wait for an answer. “I assume Silvio Vercotti knows the hit failed, but he also knows an attempt was made. So far, you haven’t done anything wrong by him. Now you’re gonna be my inside man. My puppet.”

Ricky nods like a marionette, and Leon bursts into laughter. “Say, Ricky, I was wondering,” he asks. “How’d you get so fat when you do so much meth?”

“I can’t help it,” Ricky sneers. “Every time I fuck your mother, she bakes me a pie.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” I shove him into a chair. “Quit the flirting, and we’ll talk terms.”

“You think we can trust a guy who tried to have you murdered?” Leon asks as we watch Ricky leave. “I have a feeling this decision will haunt you like a dodgy burrito.”

“I don’t eat burritos.” I nod at our snitch’s retreating back. “And that idiot is terrified. He’s got no choice now; every other option leads to his death. All he has to do is report to us about Silvio’s dipshit plans, and we’ll intercept. Silvio will soon realize I can hit far harder than he can.”

“So if Ricky Lubomski steps out of line, I can kill him?”

“Yep. You’ll be obliged to, in fact.”

“I almost hope he does.” Leon stretches and yawns. “Now I need my beauty sleep.”

“Fucking right you do,” I say with a grin. “Ten thousand year’s worth might take the edge off. Your face could scare away a graverobber.”

Leon flips me off. “Later, boss. Much later.”

I’m going home to watch my new favorite show, but I’ll get on with business tomorrow and leave Quinn alone. I mean it this time.

15

Quinn

Iwake with a start, a familiar surge of panic hurling me to my feet before I remember I’m not at the bakery.

I have a day off—from everything. I have my apartment back, and my job will be better and more secure than ever. And I have money, although, to Roman, it’s chump change.

Who is he? Rich, certainly. I looked him up last night, and he’s a billionaire with diverse business interests: real estate, construction, consulting, and finance. The media like to snap him here and there, attending galas or doing his thing in the city, but something tells me there’s more to him than the rich playboy stereotype.

I did see one picture with a woman in it. A slim, statuesque girl with blue eyes and long, black hair, her arm through his. It was taken years ago, and there were no details about who she was, but I felt a sting of inadequacy.

The woman is everything I’m not and could never be.

The thought pierces me, and I make a rash decision. To hell with caution, screw my insecurities, and who cares about Roman Kazanov anyway?

I’m going shopping.

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